


(Get) Off to See the Wizard

by livrelibre



Category: Farscape
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Consent Issues, Multi, Orgy, Sex Pollen, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:32:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livrelibre/pseuds/livrelibre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody expects sex pollen tentacle orgies</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Get) Off to See the Wizard

**Author's Note:**

> Sex pollen so noncon/dubcon. Written for Kink Bingo 20-something. Unbetaed.

Breaking the seal on Zhaan's chamber was the first mistake. Well hell, let's just be honest--one of the many mistakes they made on a regular basis in the Uncharted Territories. But who could have expected what they’d find on the other side? John should have after all this time; this freaky shit was about par for the course in the UT. He was surprised they hadn't had tribbles yet (only that weird gnome thing).

 

So anyway, he shouldn’t have been surprised by hallucinogenic tentacles. Or rather, long thick ropy vines and slim tendrils that shed a pollen with mind-altering, telempathic properties, as Pilot had explained later in his dry, precise voice. But Moya’s crew always had the element of surprise--their superpower and their curse.

 

It had only been an arn or so since Moya had passed through the strange radiation of the nebula, sending Blue into her sunworshipper hippie trance and bringing out buds all over even faster than the last time. Before, she had gone from orgasmic sunworshipper to feral plant slowly, but the quick results of this burst of energy caught them all unawares. One moment she was all calm Zhaan, the next she was budding like a time lapse Chia Pet. Pip had mouthed the words over and over, like the translator microbes couldn't do full justice to the idea of a clay figurine that grew plant hair. John could relate. Zhaan had taken off and locked herself in a chamber on the hammondside, telling them all to stay away.

 

Well they hadn't been having any of that, and Aeryn had quickly found a welder to get at the door. If one of their own was in trouble or was trouble, there was no staying put. Of course, this was before Moya had detected the strange atmosphere in the room. Before they knew, it had seemed all the more urgent to get Zhaan out before whatever was going on could hurt her or them. But Zhaan was fine. It was them who got hit with a full-on waft of the goofy juice when Aeryn and D'argo finally forced a hole in the door and a wave of super-scented air rolled out. It was like coming out of air conditioning and getting a blast of warm summer's day in Florida, if you usually stepped out of an office building into a field of hallucinogenic vines. "Poppies," John said indistinctly and then lost everything but slow, taffy-pulling time fragments to the immediate contact high.

 

Zhaan, seated in the center of the room, looked as beautiful as ever--blue and completely bare, nestled in a thicket of vines that covered her. He was just wondering stupidly, thickly, slowly whether they had imported a bunch of plants, vines like a big blue pumpkin patch with Zhaan as the baby in the middle when he noticed the rustling, a low susurration like the ocean, pleasing, a hum on his skin and at the edge of his awareness.

 

"Zhaan? Are you all right?"" Aeryn's diction seemed even more Sebacean crisp in the low murmuring heat of the room. It only served to make John aware of how his attention was wandering, dipping into her consonants and the twists of vines that he was slowly realizing weren't around Zhaan but a part of her.

 

That was about when Zhaan raised her head slightly from where she sat cross-legged in her nest of vines, eyes showing as slim slivers of blue underneath her lids. A particularly thick loop near them shot out to close up the opening they'd made in Moya’s inner door, and then all hell broke loose, as per usual.

 

John only remembered the rest in a hazy, floaty way later. He was kind of sorry, since when else would he be involved in an alien orgy (don't answer that)? Zhaan's tendrils, tentacles (oh man, he was in actual hentai here), shot out and quickly disarmed D'argo's qualta blade and John and Aeryn's pulse pistols and discarded them somewhere in the mass and then gathered the crew up. They put up a brief fight but were quickly overwhelmed by the rising mass. John felt his feet leave the ground in a sudden sweeping rush as Aeryn cursed fiercely off to the side. John was suddenly left with his only decent weapon, his mouth, as the tentacles wrapped him up full body, a smooth and slightly slippery texture that rubbed against his skin and squeaked across his leathers.

 

'Woah, woah, hey, Blue it's us. We're not going to hurt you."

 

The only response was a low growl, an increased rustling, and the muffled shouts of his crewmates as they were overwhelmed. He saw Aeryn off to the side, pushing at the tentacles that encircled her middle and heard a "What the frell,” from Chiana who was employing an increasingly distracting wriggle (even more pronounced than her usual sway) to try and get out of the light blue tentacles creeping over the grey of her bodice and up to flicker over her lips and in suddenly to stop up her usual babble. And there was a sight to make a man pause as another thick ropy tentacle curled around and slipped beneath her skintight trousers, bulging obscenely and making her arch in sudden surrender.

 

Several of the tentacles converged on Aeryn and dragged her toward the middle of the mass, taking hold of each wrist and ankle and stretching her out on a bed of its fellows, slicking between her leather vest and the undersides of her breasts.

 

So they certainly knew what they wanted, and he could certainly appreciate the sight even as he twisted to keep them out of his own leathers with about as much success. And oh man! Any thought of aesthetic or other appreciation drove out of his head as a slim ropy tentacle achieved its objective, curled around his cock and set up a steady squeeze and pull. That gave a whole new meaning to trouser snake.

 

The high wasn't just breathable. Everywhere the tentacles touched his skin set up a shimmery hum and glow that made light sparkle behind his eyes (though that might have been the amazing tentacle job he was getting and the way they had slid off his black T shirt and were attacking his nipples with steady, almost curious flicks). He could feel now the intent only to bring him pleasure, to make them one, whole--not like the higher awareness of Unity but a more base-level sharing of emotion and pleasure still suffused with a primal sense of Zhaan.

 

So when the tentacles slid even further down to play with his balls, disappeared his pants and slid back to his ass, he only jerked slightly at the sudden cool wetness produced at the tips of the tendrils. He got a whisper of inquiry with the cool, teasing prod. He could see and feel other things along with the noises around him now. He could see Pip writhing on three or four of the tentacles, others twined around her gray form and circling her wrists and ankles, not to hold her down for it, but to keep her from hurting herself or anything as she thrashed in pleasure. He could feel it, he realized, the deep squirming fullness and relentless pounding she was getting. He could feel her loving every inch that crept up inside her and wanting more. His gaze slid over Aeryn, now held loosely around the waist and no longer fighting the tentacles but straining toward them, as they held her loosely and flicked teasingly at her clit. Oh and were those suckers? They danced away when she moved forward; she was cursing in frustration, not anger. D’argo was a regular tentacle orgy all over as one literally tangled with his tongue and others twined around his mivonks and moved inside him. He could feel it too and man, that was a far cry from “turn your head and cough.” Well hell, sign him up.

 

The tentacles seemed to hear this consent, as he could feel the others, and he sighed as they eased into him. There was nothing but pleasant fullness. Another wriggled in just after and any anxiety about that was extinguished underneath the numbing haze (more blood vessels inside, he thought hazily, closer to the surface); it felt suddenly like he had been plunged into a warm bath over every inch of his skin. Then they hit his prostate and it was all over but the shouting. Nothing but sensation and good at that. He'd had all kind of things put in his body since he'd come to this end of the universe, and this was by far the best, most awesome invasion he had ever experienced.

 

He could feel the tentacles filling his ass, his namat, caressing his mivonks and ear tufts, wrapped around his cock, pulsing against his nipples and clit, sliding tantalizingly along his slit, pulling at the rings in his chest, hitting his prostate and that spot underneath his takla over and over again relentlessly, could feel the energy hitting Moya's hull and sinking into his skin, cycling back through his many arms, and sense the axis of space and gravity as everything and everyone he cared about here was entangled with him, connected. It was all so good he could lose his mind or lose it among theirs. He didn't know where he ended and they all began, and the pleasure bounced back and forth among them, crested and impossibly rose again (man, Mama Chrichton's boy having multiple orgasms. Who knew?). The drive toward Unity spiraled higher and higher until they were one pulsating, pleasure-filled organism. He could feel his body spent and coming dry and more intense for it and the climax bounced back and forth between them, between all parts of his bodies, all of them one aching yes, whole and fulfilled.

 

He came back to himself slowly on the floor, bereft suddenly, aware of the limits of his skin in a way he had never been before, missing them all, hazily aware of Pilot calling them, him. He struggled to feet that suddenly felt inadequate, still hyper-aware of his companions, Aeryn stirring even slower than her usual PK vigilance would allow, the roll of Chiana's hips, D'argo's low groan sending a reflexive shiver through him, even Rygel's grumbling silenced even though his throne sled was somewhere cast to the side. Zhaan lay curled unconscious amongst the retreating tentacles, somehow looking soft and exposed. They stirred and converged upon her instinctively, brushing aside the quiet and shrinking vines, silent for once all together. Over the next arn, the tendrils withered almost entirely. John was surprised at the sense of satiation, faint sadness, solidarity as they stayed with her and detached the largest arms and brushed her body clean as she slept on, unaware.

 

Later Pilot explained about the flares in this particular system and how they had triggered a reversion to a primal Delvian state of plant life, more feral and bound on Unity in a baser way than the usual Seek. After Zhaan woke up and recovered her balance in meditation, she came to each of them and begged forgiveness.

 

John didn’t know about the others, but the lingering sense of unity, them all moving more solidly as a group, was a rarity in any of the UT fuck ups they had been involved in. And if John left the experience with memories of the best orgasms he could remember in a long while, Aeryn eyeing his ass speculatively and a tentacle fetish? Well, then that was just one of the ways to the UT had changed him and not the worst.


End file.
